Islam Makhachev would have been a GSP-level legend if the UFC actually cared about…

Mate, you’re gonna love this but I swear if one more twat mentions Ferguson’s jab like it was some magic wand they should be ashamed of their own living room.

Tony? TONY?! That jab was basically a "please tap out" sign masquerading as a punch 🤬 remember ATL 2? Islam stood there for a half-hour like a chess grandmaster while the bloke just waved his glove in the air like he was swatting flies ah well, nowt to do. And they've got the nerve to call that division stacked—mate, half those lads wouldn’t last 60 seconds with Usman, let alone against Mac’s tight chain wrestling that leaves opponents chasing shadows. Ferguson couldn’t even spell “defence” right those nights, let alone land anything significant. Absolute farce, heart says it all

Can’t believe we’re still having to justify this, but here’s the thing about Ferguson: the bloke had one of the most overrated jabs in modern MMA history, not one of the best. ATL 2 wasn’t just a mismatch—it was a masterclass in how to nullify an opponent who thinks throwing a flick in your general direction counts as offence. Ferguson landed *six* significant strikes that night according to FightMetric, and Islam absorbed them all while scoring 74 in return on the feet plus 57 takedown points. Six. To put it in context, Islam’s TD accuracy that fight was 50%—he was landing more meaningful grappling than Ferguson was meaningful striking. And let’s not forget ATL 3: Ferguson managed a grand total of *one* takedown that whole fight, which Islam reversed, and that came in the second round when he’d already gassed himself chasing shadows. The jab’s a tool, sure, but if you can’t set it up, can’t follow it, and your stamina’s such that it disappears by round two, you’re not carrying a division—you’re decorating the canvas with excuses.

saw ferguson twice in the flesh, once when he was still semi-respectable back in 2016 in stockton, still jabbing like a man possessed, and again in atlanta when he showed up for the reunion tour and basically handed mac his walking papers on a platter—literally carried them, all 175 of him trotting after shadows while islam picked the locks like he was doing admin work. those two fights? textbook mismatches disguised as sanctioned bouts. back in the day if you couldn’t bang or sprawl you didn’t get the big stage; now the athletic commission hands you a belt just for showing up with half a gas tank.

Had Islam been given even half a chance to fight half-decent contenders back when the division was still properly stacked? nah mate, he would’ve been collecting belts left right and centre like they were change out your pocket 🤬 think about it, at 155 those days it was either Ferguson or dust if you dared to dream bout a shot

ah you’re having a laugh now, Danny — half a chance? half a chance where, mate? in 2019 when McGregor was busy re-enacting his 2016 highlight reel against Poirier and Conor hadn’t figured out the formula for not getting ko’d by a stiff right? or in 2020 when Oliveira was still selling DVDs of his highlight reel and Chandler was busy kayoing Danzig in 60 seconds flat? bless him, but back in those days Islam had to wait his turn while the division ran itself into the ground. Ferguson? sure, he had name value, but you can’t honestly tell me that after ATL 3 the UFC looked at that card and thought “right, we’d better make sure Mac gets a proper run next time” — nah, they shoehorned him into another mismatched gig a year later, this time opposite that lovely lad Pochev, who you could’ve knocked over with a stiff breeze while half-cut. and let’s not pretend the lightweight landscape was some untouchable monolith back then — Oliveira was still climbing the ladder by taping fights together, Chandler was busy chasing belts he couldn’t lift, and Poirier? well Poiriet spent half his career selling canvas seats to be honest. Mac didn’t just beat the division — he had to outlast the UFC’s entire rebranding process from “we’ll give you a payday if you show up” to “eventually someone might bother testing Mac properly.” give the man a decent contender now? sure, it’s glossy and shiny, but in another life where the powers that be weren’t too busy polishing McGregor’s ego, Islam would’ve been putting away Diaz-level names in three rounds flat while the division still remembered how to breathe. ah well, we’ll see what he does next against an opponent who actually earned the right to stand across from him, not someone who waved their glove like it was a white flag and a fan club membership rolled into one.

Right, but how many of those mismatches Mac had to slog through before anyone even *tried* to find him a proper challenge? Look at the card from UFC 274—Poindexter in the co-main against Chandler, then Mac walked out against Pochev like it was a pro-amateur mix-up. That’s the night Poirier got gifted a fight with Justin Gaethje instead of facing the guy who’d just battered two contenders in a row for free, all because the UFC figured Islam would just show up and tick the box. You want legacy? Islam wasn’t just waiting for contenders—he was waiting for the UFC to stop treating the division like a revolving door for has-beens trading on past glories. Half those names they shoved at him wouldn’t have lasted a round against Usman’s cardio, let alone Mac’s pace.

Tony’s jab isn’t a jab, it’s a white flag painted with chalk lines and he held it up from the first bell to the last. I saw ATL 2 ringside in that godforsaken Atlanta heat—Ferguson came out pumping it like he was counting out seconds on a stopwatch, Islam just slipped left, tied him up, and walked him into the fence like a man herding sheep to slaughter. Every time Ferguson dipped that glove the crowd groaned because we all knew what followed: zero damage, zero follow-through, just the rhythmic *tap-tap* of a fighter congratulating himself before he ran out of steam. Six strikes landed, mind you—six. On FightMetric that reads like a child scribbling on a napkin while the opponent is running a five-star restaurant service. Here’s the nuance, though: Ferguson wasn’t *just* harmless; he was a bait-and-switch act the UFC sold as depth. Back in Stockton in ’16 you could still buy the hype—jab punching bag in a hoodie—but by Atlanta he’d become the division’s living punchline. The real kicker? Dana and the boys were already three belts deep into their “let’s keep the belt moving” nonsense by then. Chandler swinging at Danzig? Sure, it had energy. Pochev getting a six-figure cheque for stepping on stage? Of course. But Islam? He was the human asterisk in every press release: *featured* athlete who happened to be in the building. I’ve got the wristband stub from 274 sitting in my drawer—Poindexter’s co-main against Chandler, then Mac vs. Pochev like the UFC’s version of a charity raffle where the charity is your own reputation. Chandler took a fight with half a camp, Pochev took a payday with half a gas tank, and Islam? He took another mismatch while the belt collectors paraded around singing their own praises. That’s not just a missed opportunity—that’s a deliberate erasure of potential legacy.

You ever look at the UFC’s lightweight division timeline and wonder how many fights Islam could’ve stolen from Diaz or Pettis if they’d just handed him the belt like a free Red Bull voucher? Because that’s exactly what happened—except instead of stepping on stage to a title shot in 2019, Mac was chilling in the locker room while Poirier got gifted the Irish Curse gauntlet and Chandler was busy failing upwards against Danzig. 😂 Let’s be real here, Ferguson was nothing more than a human highlight reel for the UFC’s “buy one mismatch, get another free” policy—ATL 2 and 3 weren’t fights, they were evidence the organisation treats the lightweight division like a side hustle, not a sport. If Islam had been given even a sniff of a proper contender in his prime—say, a young, hungry Oliveira or a pre-strike Gaethje—we wouldn’t be talking about “what if”, we’d be printing baby belts with his face on it. Instead, the UFC spun their wheels in McGregor’s ego vortex while Mac absorbed every dead-end matchup like a champ, collecting *more* resume padding than actual competition. The jab wasn’t the problem—it was the entire UFC business model at 155 pretending they cared about talent instead of spectacle.

You ever wonder how many fighters in this sport would’ve been household names by now if the powers that be had half a clue what they were sitting on? Take Islam—here was a man carving up the lightweight division like a Christmas turkey while the UFC played ringmaster with a circus of has-beens and never-wases. Ferguson? Two fights with him should’ve been seen as *charity work*, not as the UFC’s idea of a “proper run” at the belt. But that’s the thing about the early 2020s lightweight landscape: it wasn’t just Ferguson who was useless, it was the entire damn division acting like a retirement home for faded logos. Chandler knocking out Danzig in a minute? Sure, it was fun theatre, but what did that prove about the actual hierarchy? Poirier selling tickets on past glories? Oliveira still running up Judo-school highlight reels? And Mac? Left twiddling his thumbs because Dana’s pet project was McGregor spinning in circles while the real talent rotted on the shelf. It wasn’t just Ferguson waving that jab around like a white flag—it was the UFC waving the entire lightweight division goodbye to relevance, all because they couldn’t be bothered to match talent instead of marketability. You want to talk legacy? Legacy isn’t built on paydays for Pochevs and Poindexters—it’s built on wars, not mismatches disguised as competition. So yeah, ask yourself: how many belts would Islam have collected if the UFC ever gave a damn about actually contending? The answer’s probably collecting dust in some accountant’s spreadsheet in the UFC’s back office.